THE "STRAIGHT WHISPERER" in praise of straight men

I was about 20 years old, and had to take my banged up baby blue beetle “Betty the Boopmobile”, to a garage in Rondebosch, Cape Town to be fixed. The ultra-straight and greasy (yet not unattractive) mechanic scanned me up and down. He was looking at a camp, skinny, drama student on financial-aid, with cheap highlights. Cliché predicts that he would have hated me, right? Wrong! He gave me two new tyres; panel beat my dented dome hubcaps (by hand) and then sent me on my way assuring me he would send me an invoice. He refused payment and off I drove, never to receive that invoice. I have many stories like this. I’m not sure why they happen to me. A friend of mine believes that the only explanation is that I am in fact, the “straight whisperer”. As a gay guy, it is not unusual that I have a very special bond with my mother. She’s my solace against life’s knocks, like a gum guard when ‘kak-luck” tries to kick me in the teeth. Her love and food fortify me enough to face any battles, providing emotional and physical “padding” (love-handles, Eish!). It’s also pretty much a given that women, in general, play a very significant role in my life. Most of the friendships I have treasured have been with the opposite sex. I could also write a book about all the wonderful gay men I have known, but I want to discuss my gratitude for the extraordinary straight men that have featured in my story thus far. There were: Truck drivers clearing the road, way beyond the yellow line, so I could slowly pass in my meek 1.3 Bantam bakkie; Gorgeous, muscular hetero barmen, dancing in a circle around me, (to protect me from a rabid drunk queen with octopus hands). A handsome and well-known soap star (now married) offering to kiss me as a dare, during a drinking game - causing me to run for my life screaming- (The kiss would have meant nothing to him, but it would have moved the earth for me, so I bolted!) Heterosexual men, have been good friends and confidantes and have even come to my aid when I have needed them. I’ll tell you about two of my favourites: My dad and my brother. I have received nothing but, 1 ton truckloads of love and support, from these two great Little’s, all my life. Even as I have dragged, camped, minced and “poofed” my wares on stages, dance floors and “voorkamer’s” across the country. I know I am beyond blessed to know and love such considerate and masculine gentlemen, who shower me with Love and approval. Seeing your first born son or older brother on stage in drag or naked (or both!) and showing me nothing but pride and good humour afterwards, is not just progressive but exemplary and I am grateful for this. But my good fortune with hetero men goes further than just the familial bond. Despite being bullied at boarding school (whilst in the closet). I have been lucky enough to be accepted and (often) even loved by most of the straight men that have come to know me since coming out at 18. Let me be clear, I’m not talking about seducing straight men or being able to have my way with them (Although, I have fallen for one or two of them over the years.) I am talking about the unique friendships I have enjoyed with certain straight men, men who are comfortable enough in their sexuality to be completely accepting of mine. I concur that attractive straight men are quite irresistible for most of us gay men (we always want what we can’t have.). But they don’t have to be the queer man’s kryptonite. Once you accept that they are not gay and no amount of tequila will change that, then an amazing platonic relationship can flourish. One wild drunken night in Cape Town I found myself being cradled by a beautiful young man on the steps of the club, and as I lay in his arms beyond inebriated, he gently sang Will Young’s “Evergreen” in my ear. He doesn’t have a gay bone in his body and is also married with a child now -not that this makes you a heterosexual! (There are too many wedding rings hiding in rented lockers, in Bathhouses on a Thursday night for that!) But he’s really not gay. I am so grateful for witnesses because I can scarcely believe it happened either! During long runs of bigger productions like “panto” I have been blessed with “straight husbands”. Close straight guy mates to share my failed romances with and a fresh and unique perspective of the “other” side of the male psyche. “Don’t call him back, let him hunt you a bit.” he would suggest, and in return I could dispense my own advice with a more feminine/intuitive flair, like: “If she says you don’t have to buy her a birthday present, she doesn’t really mean it.” and a lot of laughter about the differences between gay and straight men, like their choice of underwear and deodorant, when sharing a dressing room. It was a straight male nurse in a Durban public hospital that caringly and unflinchingly held me over a toilet when I was at my most wretched from a bout of severe food poisoning. And I will never forget a certain buff redheaded actor in SpongeBob the musical reassuring me one melancholy matinee, that if he was gay “he would have been my bitch.” *I died and went to Heaven!* I blow kisses (platonic of course!) to all the straight barmen, DJ’s, Sound technicians, venue owners, managers, mates, boyfriends and husbands of mates, and ‘random straight strangers’, that helped a homo out. Thank you. I know that homophobia, prejudice and ignorance are still rife out there. But to all the straight boys that we love and love us back, I salute you!

Opening

Some things in life you need to do alone. This was not one of those things. There were long lonely hours on occasion, grappling ideas early hours of the morning. But most of the time I had someone holding my hand or kicking my ass when I needed it most. A week ago today I opened my show LITTLE POOF! And I feel that I cannot even really refer to it as something that is mine when there have been so many other hands and voices involved in its creation. Like my show I feel I have experienced a great opening. But let me share some of the days and weeks building up to last Wednesday:

There was a brick where my stomach should’ve been and because the brick took up so much space there was hardly any room for one of my favourite things on earth; food. I constantly had to talk nicely to myself and ease myself down to a mild panic. At times I felt like I was gripping the reigns of a bucking wild horse that wanted to cause me more harm than mistaking my finger for a carrot. This horse kicked and flailed and although it wasn’t really a talking horse its eyes said: “Who do you think you are? How dare you do this to me?” I have no idea how I managed to break that particular horse in. I was struggling to sleep and soon the days were beginning to take on a sheeny haze like I was staring at everything with my head on the floor watching the hot tarmac warp everything above it. Deep breaths…deep breaths....Oh my God! What the hell was I thinking!! Just me, Cath and a piano! I had nowhere to hide, for an hour, so up close and personal. All these analytical eyes at arm’s reach.
I borrowed a chunk of money from my beloved, benevolent little brother and proceeded to chew my pillow with the back of my head for weeks worrying that the show would not earn enough to pay him back. What if everyone hates it? What if it’s only funny to me? After taking a month off writing to do Sponge Bob the musical I returned to a script that suddenly seemed juvenile, bland and completely inadequate. My other internal organs began to chew on the brick. Then the firm guidance and warm sunshine of my director Neels Clasen and the constant earthy support and litres of tea from my musical director Cathrine Hopkins lifted me under my arms as though I were a child on the floor and things began to take shape. I evolved slowly from fear to faith, then from faith to confidence and then from confidence to sheer excitement to share what we had made with an audience.
Zietsies is an amazing venue and once we moved in there for the last week of rehearsals the fantastic view over Johannesburg helped give me a visual of what it was I was trying to do. I was announcing: “Hi Joburg, look at me! I love you! If you gimme a break you may just grow to love me too.”
Elzabe (the owner and a powerful and accomplished performer in her own right) and her sister Retha were warm and helpful from the start and I hope to keep them both in my life beyond this production. Before the show high on adrenaline Cath and I have bent poor Retha’s ear off many times and she smiles warmly and goes about her sewing and arranging things for the venue. It’s a cabaret space and a guesthouse but mostly it’s a home. Some nights there is extra food and Cath and I are in our element. The food is so good it even dissolves stubborn bricks!
Finally opening night emerged like a great white fin in a paddle pool and after all the stress and fear I was now just eager to get it over with. Next thing I knew Elzabe had announced us and I watched in horror as Cath stepped out to bow and greet the audience and then take her place at the piano. I fantasized about bolting up the stairs and never being seen again. But I could feel all the Love from inside the glass bubble of the dining room and instead I marched in and clung to my clothes rail, steadied myself and on Cath’s cue I began to sing. At first it was a bit shaky but it settled and became more rooted and suddenly I was having fun. Most of the time I was in my own world but every now and then I would emerge to see a close friend or family member laughing from their gut or wiping away a sad tear. Strangely, I remember thinking I was probably dreaming because they were reacting better than I had ever imagined they would. I took a journey and over 30 people took it with me that night. By the end of the opening night we had already sold enough tickets to cover the loan I had taken from my brother (Retha was responding to e-mails for bookings that were still coming through at 9pm that night!)
Since then we have enjoyed full houses and standing ovations every night and although it is still early days I am grateful from the very source of my being. The relief of opening night was so mammoth that I came down with a strange virus (still unidentified) that caused me to sleep straight through the two nights and a day I had off until beginning my next week of shows tonight. I have almost completely recovered and the adrenaline of tonight’s show seemed to have given me a clean bill of health. Most of the tickets sold so far have been people who don"t even know me, and if atleast half of my mates come to see the show we will have to extend or do another run it's wonderful!

Tigger, Tanz, Mom, Si, Cath, Neels, Elly, Wim, Amalanka, Gerrit, Elzabe, Retha, Hopkins family, Collett, Luiz, Bruce W, Coenie K, Sonia, Peter, Sean, Tess, Nicci, everyone on Facebook and many more people... thank you all for the roles you’ve played in this amazing experience. I’m not counting my chickens. I’m merely sharing my gratitude at this point of the journey. I am fully aware that I am still flat broke and am not sure what the Universe has in store for me beyond the end of this run but I am feeling very optimistic nonetheless.
Irrespective of what the future holds I am so thankful for every helping hand and every ticket sold, but I can’t help being a “Little” excited about it too.
So much Love.
Little Poof!

B&B

I am in my parent’s new home, just a stone’s throw away from the Vaal dam which is like an inland mini-ocean. I have been going running along the banks in the afternoons so that my body doesn’t start illustrating my love for my mother’s cooking. I feel like I am in a gay South African version of the film “Like Water for Chocolate” because every meal that my mother serves is fortified with some kind of magic ingredient that loosens my highly strung nerves and cradles my heart until it stops its bitching and moaning. The house is gorgeous. Its double storey with four bedrooms and the belly of the house is a generous open plan, connecting the kitchen and the living room with a high churchlike roof, which is made up of whitewashed wooden beams that hold everything together under the watchful eye of Angelica. Angelica is the hand carved guardian angel that I bought my mother for her birthday to look after us all, and she does. I have been here a week already and it has been a warm hazy blur of Love, laughter and tea. These people have and always will Love me and it feels like the gooseflesh you get sitting in the sun when even your bones have gotten cold. They don’t just accept or tolerate me. Here I am enjoyed like a square of rationed chocolate. I Love my family because they Love me for more than being a brother or a son. They are above all things in my life my greatest blessing. I will move back into my little flat amongst the trees in Northcliff soon and commence rehearsals for The Rocky Horror Show, but until then I am enjoying every minute of the time I spend with these wonderful people that made me. I Love hearing my father’s authoritative tone in my voice when I reprimand the baby in our family (a gorgeous three year old German Sheperd named Zack.) I love setting the table and putting Pompy , our adopted terrier (previously my Ouma and Oupa’s now both watching over us like Angelica) to bed outside under her own duvet because she suffers from late night potty training memory lapses. I spent way too much time on my own in Cape Town and am so happy to now have all this wonderful company. The bed in the room I sleep in is so comfortable that even three of the five cats we have are constantly to be wrestled with for a comfortable spot. I am glad that I have not settled with anyone yet because it makes this time I share with my family so much more intimate. This week we had so many guests that I now feel confident that my mother and I could run a lucrative bed and breakfast. My uncle came to stay followed by a friend of my mother’s and then my aunt and uncle and niece. So much territory was covered. Love, betrayal, death, regret and even marriage (which some would argue is an accumulation of the former four.) Conversations became heated and then cooled and all was punctuated delectably by my mother’s sublime cooking. She is the happiest I have seen her in years and I taste this in every mouthful. My Little brother that is so much bigger than me in so many ways has set something in motion that may provide me with a career. But even if it is not lucrative and so nothing comes of it now, I will feel its rippling impact for the rest of my life. It is good to be believed in.